


The Misadventure of the Deceased Policeman

by sootonthecarpet



Category: Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Angst, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Murder
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-15
Updated: 2012-09-15
Packaged: 2017-11-14 07:38:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/512876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sootonthecarpet/pseuds/sootonthecarpet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"He--he's been missing for over a week..." Gregson choked. "I was the last person to see him, and Bradstreet and Hopkins think I--and I--it's--" He pressed his hands over his face.<br/>"Who are you talking about?" Snapped Holmes impatiently.<br/>Gregson swallowed. "Lestrade. They--they think I've killed Lestrade."</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Misadventure of the Deceased Policeman

It was the second week of a rather spectacular August, and Sherlock Holmes and I had just completed a supremely boring case which he had only taken at my prompting as an attempt at distraction. (I had not realized just how horribly simple and arduous it would turn out to be.) He settled back in his chair, no doubt preparing a lengthy monologue about brainwork.

"It sometimes seems that--" he said at length, when, to my relief, we were suddenly and rudely interrupted by a man slamming open the door and running into the room. He braced a hand on the table, no doubt out of breath from his rapid ascension of the stairs.

"Ah, Gregson!" Holmes said, gesturing. "Do sit down."

He collapsed gratefully onto the sofa.

"You've got to tell them I didn't do it, Holmes," he mumbled, shaken and pale.

"You've been accused of murder? Who?" Holmes inquired, leaning forward.

Gregson looked up, surprised. "You haven't heard...?"

"Heard what?" I asked.

"He--he's been missing for over a week..." Gregson choked. "I was the last person to see him, and Bradstreet and Hopkins think I--and I--it's--" He pressed his hands over his face.

"Who are you talking about?" Snapped Holmes impatiently.

Gregson swallowed. "Lestrade. They--they think I've killed Lestrade."

"Oh." Holmes slumped back into his chair. There was a lengthy silence.

"You'd best tell us what happened," I said.

He nodded. "There isn't very much to tell... he and Hopkins had been working together on something, and I ran into them after they were done and about to go home for the day. I don't live very far from Lestrade, so we walk home on the same route for a while." He cut off for a moment and swallowed thickly. "We never tend to talk much. He seemed happy... Eventually we turned in opposite directions." He took a deep breath. "I have not seen him since." He looked up at us with desperation. "Everyone knows that he and I are rivals, Bradstreet is saying that there was a quarrel that lead to a fight, and then I--"

"You need not continue," I interrupted. Holmes said nothing, but briefly touched Gregson's shoulder.

There was a rough knock at the door, and Holmes looked up. "It is surely Hopkins. Come in," he said.

Hopkins entered, moving with a rather chilling degree of vindictiveness. "Gregson, I am here to arrest you. Do me the favour of coming quietly."

Gregson shook his head numbly. "Holmes, you must tell him I have not done it."

"Of course you have!" Hopkins cried. He took a moment to compose himself, lacing his fingers together tightly. "It surely must have been stinging you for years, the way that Lestrade has been gaining steadily more notoriety while you, despite your higher intelligence, remain only barely more respected than is average. The suppressed anger of your rivalry finally brought itself to a climax. Nobody knows better where to hide a body than a policeman."

Holmes looked as though he were about to speak, but Gregson leapt to his feet before he had a chance. "You're one to talk of jealousy!" he yelled. "I've seen the way you looked at him when he would speak with Mr. Holmes, the one person whose respect you desire who has not given it to you. Surely you have a greater motive than I. You had finally had enough--you followed us and, after we parted ways, you murdered him!" Gregson took heaving breaths, hands shaking.

A tap on the door and a small cough interrupted the silence.

"Your theory is preposterous," Hopkins exclaimed, and the tap was repeated with more emphasis. "Why that day, in particular?"

"Why would we have _quarrelled_ on that day in particular?!"

Holmes was absorbed in the confrontation. I stood up quietly and walked to the door.

"Bradstreet would never accuse me, he knows who the true killer is!"

" _Bradstreet_ is capable of common sense! You are obviously--" Gregson fell silent, staring blankly at our third visitor. He fell back onto the sofa, and I heard him mumble, "Thank god."

Inspector Lestrade strode forward into the room. "I met Bradstreet and he seemed to think I had been murdered, and that the culprit had escaped to Baker Street...!" He cried, gesticulating.

"But how--" Hopkins choked.

"What do you mean, 'how'?! Can't a man go on vacation without his co-workers declaring him dead? I TOLD you I was heading to the country that day, I told you _both!_ " He sat down heavily on the sofa and sank his face into his hands. "I suppose I do not matter to you enough to listen to me," came a muffled declaration, "And that my best friend is a man with a motive to murder me."

Nobody spoke. After a protracted silence, Gregson placed his hand on Lestrade's back. He started away, then seemed to think better of it and leaned towards Gregson, uncovering his face and wiping mutely at his eyes. Hopkins looked away.

Eventually, the two seated inspectors rose, almost in unison. Gregson's hand dropped from Lestrade's back as the two men walked from the room and exited the building. Still struck mute, Hopkins followed soon after. Only Holmes and I remained.

"I must confess I am very glad he had not been murdered," Holmes said.

"I hope that they shall treat him better in the future. He does deserve it."

Holmes nodded and took his pipe from his pocket.

**Author's Note:**

> I owe credit to this oddity for an offhand comment her Holmes made during an RP, about wondering whether perhaps the recent lack of cases was due to Gregson having murdered Lestrade and framed Hopkins for it.
> 
> Also, for the curious, this is set during the period after the hiatus and before The Six Napoleons, and furthermore, it's during the time that Watson is helping Holmes overcome his cocaine addiction.
> 
> Edit: Basil (ghostbees on tumblr) did a fantastic illustration! Not that he can do any other kind of illustration. http://ghostbees.tumblr.com/post/31651110169/what-do-you-mean-how-cant-a-man-go-on ... Although actually, he's probably why you're here in the first place. But if you're not, go and admire him and his awesome stuff.


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